


in the yellow and green

by girlmarauders



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Jabariland, M/M, Wakanda, fluffy hard boys, journeys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14872559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders
Summary: M'Baku and Bucky travel to Jabariland together and the journey takes them both to new places.





	in the yellow and green

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [croissantkatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/croissantkatie/pseuds/croissantkatie) and [misprint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misprint/pseuds/misprint) for the excellent beta.
> 
> As the Jabari speak a variation of Igbo (rather than the Xhosa spoken by the other Wakanda characters) I’ve kept Jabari cultural references Igbo/Nigerian. The Jabari city Ghekre is named after the Gorilla god in the comics.

  
M’Baku was not a patient man. In the mountains, you had to be decisive. The ice and snow shifted under your feet and, if you were not careful, the mountains chose whether you lived or died. Gorillas did not lie in wait; they announced themselves with confidence, with pride, with certainty.

He had not wanted a seat on the tribal council, but T’Challa had asked him, requested him as a representative of the Jabari and Wakandan tradition as they entered a new world, and he could not say no. When the king asked, you did not refuse on a whim.

He had reason enough to regret that decision as the council entered its eighth hour of discussion. The council chambers were comfortable, if overly warm for a man raised to wash in snow, but that only served to make the temptation of sleep an ever-present threat. He leaned forward and propped his head on his hand as he continued listen to Grandmother W’Kess. He should show her more respect. She had raised three generations of fine border tribe warriors, and been a legendary warrior herself in her day, but he could not interest himself in the harvest, or the tree blight.

The council had argued for two whole days on Wakanda’s entrance into the community of nations, and he had spoken passionately against it. It had been flattering, a source of pride in himself and his leadership, that other council leaders much his elder had nodded at his arguments. He was a young leader and it had mattered to him to be affirmed by his elders. Still, T’Challa had held strong, and rebutted their arguments with painstaking politeness. The general had spoken in favour of it, and Grandfather Mokoyen of the River Tribe, and eventually more of the elders came to T’Challa’s way of thinking. M’Baku was not so proud he could not admit when he was beaten.

But that, at least, been interesting. The harvest report was not. The border reports were not. He blinked, and tried to stay awake.

T’Challa looked as composed as he ever did, checking statistics on his tablet as W’Kess spoke. Shuri, and the Queen Mother had attended the opening of the council, but neither had stayed for the discussion. T’Challa was allowed to deputise to them, but he had chosen to stay for every moment of the first full council of his kingship. M’Baku could respect that in a man, even as he wished he was not required to stay.

There was another hour of reports, which dragged, until they were all finally released. There would be an official reception tomorrow, to celebrate the end of council, but the evening was theirs.

M’Baku stayed in his seat, resting his head against the high wooden back of the chair and closing his eyes, until T’Challa had finished speaking to each of the council members in turn. It gave him a chance to turn over the discussion of the day in his mind, and commit the essentials to memory. The Jabari did not reject every piece of technology, but he had always found it better to use them sparingly. His memory was good, and he did not need the various glowing and beeping items Shuri seemed to conjure every day.

Eventually, T’Challa ambled over.

“Is the mighty gorilla resting?” he said, smiling. M’Baku waved a dismissive hand.

“Thinking. I thought that meeting would never end.” he said. T’Challa extended a hand to him and he took it, rising to his feet.

“You will stay at the palace tonight?” T’Challa asked and M’Baku nodded.

“Your mother already spoke to me,” he said. “I will stay until I return to Jabariland at the end of the week.”

“Excellent,” T’Challa said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

&&&

The palace was beautiful, but T’Challa did not take him to any of the rooms M’Baku recognised. Instead, they climbed downward into the sprawling complex of labs Shuri ruled over.

One of the medical labs was busy, even at this time of night, with a handful of nurses bustling around a white man with long hair. He had his back to them, and Shuri was talking animatedly to him as she worked on his prosthetic arm with a set of long metal tools.

“Sergeant Barnes,” T’Challa said, slowly walking around the medical bench. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” said Sergeant Barnes, with a flat American accent. Something sparked at the edge of Shuri’s tools, and Barnes winced, flinching slightly.

“Sorry!” Shuri said, still focussed on her work. “This is very delicate!”

“Shuri, can you give us a moment?” said T’Challa. She pouted at him, but her arms and shoulders didn’t move, and continued their delicate work.

“If I stop now, he won’t get the next upgrade!” she protested. Some shadow passed over Barnes’ face, a flitting darkness that swiftly disappeared. T’Challa frowned.

“Shuri, no upgrades. We have talked about this.” he said.

“But-”

“No upgrades. Let the man live Shuri.”

She pouted again, but flipped something with her tools and slowly closed a small panel, taking a step back.

“There, I fixed the short, no upgrades,” she said. Barnes rolled his shoulder carefully, reaching over to touch it with his other arm, He was dressed simply, in a shirt with large cut holes for his arms, the shirt patterned in Wakandan writing along the hem. He was not a temporary visitor, someone had dressed him as they would dress a Wakandan.

“Thanks,” he said, and smiled. It was a very small, strange smile, that reached his eyes in stages, as if it took some time for the emotion to travel. He stood from the bench, still holding his arm carefully, and for the first time M’Baku fully appreciated his height and size. He looked him up and down appreciatively.

“Your highness,” Bucky said, although he didn’t bow. T’Challa clicked his tongue.

“How many times must I tell you to call me T’Challa?” he asked, with a grin. Barnes shrugged.

“You still call me Sergeant,” he said quietly. His shoulders sloped inwards, as if he was trying to make himself smaller, despite being nearly as tall as M’Baku.

“Bucky then,” T’Challa said, turning slightly to look at M’Baku. “This is my friend, M’Baku, leader of the Jabari people. I wanted you to meet before dinner.”

“I’m coming to dinner?” Barnes asked. He looked like he had been asked to fight a war.

“My mother likes you,” T’Challa said. “I don’t argue with her.”

Barnes made a face that indicated he also had no desire to argue with the Queen Mother which, in M’Baku’s opinion, made him a wise man. M’Baku had his own mother to argue with, and he had no desire to increase the number of people that could lecture him. When T’Challa had lobbied him to join the council, he had speculated about pitching his own mother against Queen Ramonda, before he had realised they would almost certainly join forces and make his life a misery. A chief had many perrogratives, but a man had some things he had the right to withhold from his mother.

Barnes reached forward to M’Baku with his flesh right hand, and M’Baku took it, registered the firm grip, clearly holding back.

“Nice to meet you,” said Barnes. M’Baku nodded.

“So, you are the soldier T’Challa brought here,” he said, appraisingly. He was curious how this foreigner would react. Barnes merely shrugged, and looked sideways at T’Challa, through the hair that always seemed to fall forwards to obscure his face.

“I guess,” he said softly. Jabariland was not so cut off from the world that he did not know the news, and M’Baku struggled to see the fearful Winter Soldier in this soft spoken man. Oh, there was the metal arm, which looked vicious, but he would not be surprised if it was to be suddenly revealed that the arm had a mind of its own and acted of a seperate will. It seemed that independent, irreconcilable with the rest of the man it was attached to.

“Sergeant Barnes is our guest,” T’Challa said, with the air of finality that would be pompous on any other man. M’Baku had been right to challenge T'Challa, and he had also been right to save his life, right to accept his kingship. They would disagree, and M’Baku could already feel the coming years of council fights, but T’Challa had the kingship in his bones.

Dinner was eaten informally in the Queen’s garden, around a round table with the princess and Nakia. They all ate with their hands, Shuri and T’Challa bickering playfully, everyone helping themselves to portions from the communal plate. Barnes stayed quiet as he ate steadily, answering the Queen Mother’s attempts to engage him in conversation with short, quiet answers. He called her ma’am the way an American would, with a round nasal vowel. With surprise, he noticed that Barnes ate and balanced his plate one-handed, with his flesh right hand, leaving his metal arm resting on his thigh, unused. Okoye joined them briefly, still in armour, to take some food on a plate thrust at her by the queen, and debrief T’Challa in rapid clicking Xhosa. As she stood to leave, Barnes, his eyes lighting up shyly, slowly tried a few halting words on her. Even M’Baku, who rather took his heavy Igbo accent as a mark of pride, could heard that his pronunciation was atrocious, but Okoye lit up with a broad smile, and coaxed him through a few more phrases before she laughed and switched to English .

“You are getting better Sergeant Barnes!” she said happily.

He smiled again, the light of it carrying upwards to his eyes, and he shook some hair out of his eyes.

“Bheka is teaching me,” he said, naming one of the Queen’s young nephews. “I was...good at languages, before, I think.”

Bucky looked solemn at the mention of his history, but M’Baku took his cues from T’Challa and Okoye, who nodded seriously but supportively.

“It is good to pick up old skills,” Okoye said, between bites, “but if you are not careful, soon Bheka will be trying out his other lessons on you.”

“Don't know if I'd be much help with math homework,” he said. “I left school in the 8th grade, pretty sure most Wakandan teenagers are onto theoretical physics.”

That got a chuckle from most of the table, and then Okoye wiped her plate clean and stood.

“My king, my queen,” she said, doing a quick Wakanda salute. “I must return to the training grounds.”

“The work of the Dora is never done,” said Queen Ramonda serenely. “Do not let T’Challa run you ragged.”

T'Challa gestured with his free hand as he ate.

“Mother, you know it is her that runs me ragged.”

Queen Ramonda merely sniffed, and T'Challa turned to M’Baku.

“Brother, what will you do while you are in the capital? It has been a long time since the leader of the Jabari has joined us here.”

“Hm? You cannot think of ways for a poor clueless mountain boy to entertain himself in the big city?” he asked, using his elbow to jostle T’Challa playfully. “I am just a savage from the mountains after all, what could I possibly manage to get up to in a week, eh?”

“Do not make me nervous,” T’Challa said, and M’Baku leaned back, putting his hands behind his head.

“I'm sure I can come up with a few plans before the week is out,” he said grinning, meeting eyes with Barnes across the table. Barnes smiled back, flicking his eyes back and forth between him and T’Challa. M’Baku raised his eyebrows, and Barnes smile grew wider. Maybe he would have a partner in crime for the next few days after all.

Eventually, the sun grew low over the treetops and the diners filtered away. The Queen Mother left with her daughter, to look at new fabrics for the palace staff, and Nakia and T'Challa spoke in low tones until they finally seemed to realise they were still in public and slunk away. M’Baku watched them go with a grin, until he turned and realised that Barnes had also watched them duck away with a smile. The light was low but Barnes was sitting with his face to it, and M'Baku could see the wistfulness in it.

“They seem good together,” Barnes said.

“Nakia was a War Dog.” he said, knowing that must be a strange answer. “She knows the world outside Wakanda, she has seen what T’Challa has seen. They share a vision of the future. That's important in a lover.”

Barnes sat back, extending his legs. There was a lot for him to fill the chair. His metal arm rested on his thigh, the fingers extended. He did not even use it to gesture. Perhaps it was too heavy to use regularly? Or was painful? M’Baku had no frame of reference for understanding it. Jabari tradition did not try to improve on what had come to their people naturally. It was not that there was no prosthetics, or medicine, but no Jabari, no Wakandan, would in good conscience take what a person was and make them a weapon.

“You don't share that vision?” asked Barnes, and M’Baku hummed thoughtfully.

“No,” he said honestly. “I think it is too much change, too fast. I think one day Wakanda will reach beyond its capacity. Perhaps, that day, T’Challa will have to accept that you cannot change the world through force of will alone.”

“I dunno,” Barnes said. “I have a ..friend like that. He won't stop for anything.”

The plates had long been cleared away but M'Baku raised his glass in a mock toast.

“To stubborn friends then,” he said, and was happy when Barnes smiled widely. He was handsome when he smiled.

&&&

The next day was busy, and although he kept an eye out, M’Baku did not see Barnes at all in the palace. He holo-called with his mother back in Jabariland in the morning, and they debated the merits of the new bridge project, and the timing of the spring ceremonies, and then, official business concluded, his mother pivoted to asking him about Birnin Zana and whether he had been out in the city.

He had not risen to the leadership of the Jabari by being an idiot, and he promised to bring her back a gift before he finished the call. M’Baku liked being surrounded by his family. Tradition had not led the Jabari astray in the many long years of their existence, and family, the chain of forebearers who carried the honour of the chiefdom of the Jabari, they were his connection to that tradition, to that wisdom. He wanted that wisdom now, in this quickly-changing present day. The Jabari had always walked a thin line - to be Wakandan, but also Jabari, to serve the nation but also guard its tradition, to set themselves apart but not forget their part in a larger whole. When to change and when to stay the same? M’Baku rubbed his hand across his forehead, already feeling pressure develop behind his eyes. Opportunities and possibilities seemed to multiple every time he came to Birnin Zana.

Even with the update from his mother over, there was still more work for him. He wrote a letter of recommendation for a young Jabari woman applying for a medical program at the university, and then took his tablet outside to read council reports. When he was a child, he had thought there would be more ‘glory’ in being chief, but now he knew it was mostly reports - how many babies had been born to how many parents, what would feed and clothe them, where they would live. Sitting under an acacia tree in the gardens, he made notations on each report with his thoughts, trying to keep them organised.

T’Challa had spoken about taking refugees from the outside world. Jabariland could take its fair share, but it would have to find somewhere to put them, and he would have to speak with his elders about it. There would be opposition. The Jabari were, his pride would not let him say distrustful, but if the royal family were proud like the Panther god, the Jabari were wary and territorial as the Gorilla god. But even gods could learn, and if hungry people came to the door of the Jabari, they would find a way to feed them.

He heard a rustle to his side and turned quickly, raising an arm defensively. It was a split second reminder of his distance from the Wakandan life of the royal family. They all, in some way or another, relied on technology to protect them. But here, as in Jabariland, M’Baku had no personal shield, no ballistic weapon, and only a single cuff of vibranium.

The noise was Barnes, walking through an opening in the garden's boundary hedge, and he raised his flesh arm in a calming gesture.

“Woah, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he said. Slowly, M’Baku lowered his arm

“You didn't,” he said “ I was just thinking”

Barnes shrugged, and M'Baku realised that it was one-shouldered. A long patterned piece of fabric covered his left side, but it hung empty.

“Your arm-” M'Baku said, not knowing how he intended to finish his sentence. Barnes re-adjusted the fabric self-consciously.

“Yeah, they took it off this morning.” he said, and his face was drawn with tension. “Shuri is making me another one.”

M’Baku turned so that there was space for Barnes to sit on the rock patio next to him, and he lowered himself one-handed until he sat next to M'Baku, their legs hanging over the edge. The patio looked out from the gardens onto the jungle where the River Tribe and Merchant Tribe had settlements, and beyond that the snow-capped mountains of Jabariland.

“Do you need a replacement?” M'Baku asked, when he was settled. Barnes did not turn to look at him, but looked outwards at the view.

“Why’dya ask?” he said, his vowels pulling flat. He sounded more like the age he looked, and his shoulders rose defensively around his ears.

“Shuri does not listen to ‘no’ well,” M'Baku said diplomatically. “I think she would make you another arm whether you wanted one or not.”

Barnes snorted at that, and M’Baku thought he caught sight of a small smile.

“Pretty much everyone wants me to have that arm, whether I want it or not,” Barnes said. He didn't sound angry or bitter, just, resigned. M'Baku supposed 100 years of war could do that to a man, make him acceptful of the things that came to him, good and bad.

“Wakanda has enough warriors, and it has enough defences.” he said. “If you had no arm, you would still be welcome here, or anywhere in Wakanda that you chose.”

Barnes used his hand to support his as he leaned back, the sun catching on his collarbone and the planes of his face. Regardless of his body, his arm or the muscles that showed no toll of his long life, he was handsome in a charming, boyish way.

“You don’t know that,” he said gently.

M’Baku clicked his tongue.

“Do not tell me what I do and do not know,” he said. “I do not tell you what you know. If I ever need to assassinate a world leader or live 100 years, I will ask you”

Barnes’ forehead crinkled, and he laughed, just slightly, blowing air out through his nose.

“Pretty sure T’Challa would get the drop on me,” he said, with a smile. M'Baku chuckled.

“Okoye would kill you before you had even had the thought,” he said, and Barnes nodded.

“She would,” he said happily. M'Baku stood and offered Barnes a hand, which he took easily, pulling himself to standing.

“If they are done poking you in the labs here, you should get to know Wakanda outside of the palace,” he said.

“And you're the one to show me?” Barnes asked, raising his eyebrows. He took a long moment to let go of M'Baku’s hand, his palm dry and warm. M’Baku was so used to him constantly looking away, he felt it as a quick, electric thrill, like the soft, subharmonic thrum of a vibranium engine, when Barnes made eye contact with him. Eventually, he released his hand.

“I know I am,” he said, and grinned.

&&&

It had been a few years since he was young and made regular trips to the centre of Birnin Zana, but the nightlife never changed that much. New spots, different fashions, but it was the same drive to dance, to enjoy a long night and good friends. Barnes had a room in the palace guest wing, isolated at the end of a corridor, but M’Baku brought him to his room, to eat suya and rice over the sofa and drink. The beer wasn’t strong, and Barnes sheepishly admitted he couldn't get drunk, but M’Baku still opened two bottles for the show of the thing. There was something about it, the window open to let in the sounds of the city far below, that took him all the way back to being 20 and studying in Birnin Zana. His mother had insisted, his father nodding along with the chief’s decision, but he hadn't wanted to go. He had argued - surely Jabariland had everything he needed to learn about how to rule the Jabari? - but his mother had tapped him on the nose with her staff. The Gorilla is a curious god, she had said, in the tone she had always delivered lessons in, and we do him a service when we learn from all sources. In the capital, he had learned to be a Wakandan, when all he had in his heart was Jabari. His mother had been right, as much as it pained him to admit it. It had been an important lesson, and one he had not expected to need quite so much. Now he was learning to be someone in the greater world, not just a Jabari or a Wakandan, and here was the greatest artefact of the outside world possible, a man made into a weapon for the rest of the world’s endless wars, rearranging his hair in front of the mirror in M'Baku’s room.

“Here,” he said, passing him a hair tie. “This'll work better.”

“Thanks,” said Barnes, tying his hair back neatly. “It gets so hot.”

“You could cut it,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed waiting.

“Can't,” he said, with a rueful twist to his mouth. “I tried, once, before I came here. It's the scissors near my head.”

“You let Shuri near you with worse,” M’Baku said, keeping his tone level. Everything Barnes said about himself had the committed downward turn at the corners of his mouth, as if he was inviting you to laugh at the strange things he said.

“That's different,” he said, meeting M'Baku’s gaze in the mirror. “Arm's not me. It comes off.”

M'Baku nodded. That made a kind of sense, or, at least, one he could understand. Bucky fiddled with the fabric that hung from his neck, pulling on it to try and cover his whole shoulder.

“Wait, here,” M’Baku said, suddenly having a thought. He had a long piece of akwete in his bags that he kept for good luck, but it had been serving no purpose at the bottom of his bag for months. He pulled it out of his bag, letting it pull over his knuckles. “Try this.”

Barnes took it carefully with his hand, looking at it for a long moment before he did anything. It had a tortoiseshell pattern, and was actually long enough to cover his side.

“Thanks,” he said. He paused. “Could you..uh..tie the knot for me?” He held the fabric out, looking nervous. Inching forward at the edge of the bed, M’Baku reached out for the cloth. Something relaxed in Barnes face as M'Baku took it into his lap and tied a strong knot on one side so Barnes could tuck his head through and let the other side fall over his shoulder. Once he had settled it, M’Baku stood and looked him over. Eventually, Barnes smiled back and reached out to clasp him on the shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said. “I thought you were gonna show me around?”

&&&

Nights in Birnin Zana were warm and heady, and filled with music. It was impossible to experience it and not be moved to dance or enjoyment, and M’Baku took Barnes to one of the open air bars, where the dance floor had no walls, only a high roof canopy. There was more space there, and they were left to dance and drink and shout at each other over the music undisturbed. Perhaps someone would recognise Barnes from the news coverage, but it was unlikely, and Wakandans were raised to secrecy. No one would bother them.

Even without his arm, Barnes was a fluid, easy dancer, and he liked the music louder, heavier, enough to overwhelm you with the physical sensation of noise, so M’Baku took him as deep into the city as they could go, into crowds too lost in dancing and music to care about them. Barnes stuck out noticeably, and a few people stared, but everyone was there to dance, not to worry about the other dancers. They drank, although Barnes wasn’t affected, and M’Baku tried to be careful, but, this night was one of his few nights of freedom. He was far from his kingdom, there was no one who could ask for his time or judge him as the chief, and he wanted to let go of each of the careful tethers that held him always in place. They drank, and danced, lost and anonymous in the crowd of bodies.

Eventually, they burst out of one of the bars, hanging off one another, laughing at M'Baku’s unsteady steps. They stumbled, and Barnes grabbed him, unnaturally strong even one-handed.

“I thought you weren't affected by alcohol,” M’Baku said, laughing, and Barnes shook his head. He looked so young, almost bashful, and M’Baku’s slow thoughts struggled to remind him that this man was decades older than him, older in accumulated pain and suffering beyond what M'Baku could know. He looked so young.

“I'm not,” Barnes said, giving M'Baku a playful shove. Intertwined, both of them stumbled, and laughed.

“Why can't you walk straight then?” MBaku asked, grinning at him as they righted themselves. Barnes snorted, and without saying anything they began to pick their way carefully back to the palace. M'Baku was careful here; this section of Birnin Zana was still cobbled, and he was trying not to trip. It would be undignified. He nearly did trip when he walked into Barnes’ back, so focused was he on his footing that he did not see him stop and look up at the sky.

The stars were out, the sky clear of any cloud, and the light of Birnin Zana was not so bright as to drown them out.

“This has been..good,” Barnes said, not confused, just testing the word out in his mouth, as if unused to the shape of it. “It's good to just..let go,” he said. M'Baku put a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Barnes,” he said, and he shook his head.

“I keep telling people to call me Bucky,” he said, and M’Baku inhaled.

“Bucky then,” he said, stepping next to him, to see his face. For a moment, both of them looked upwards, and M’Baku wondered what each of them saw. He knew the Wakandan constellations, heroes and gods from their past, but Bucky would not see that.

“Thanks, for this,” Bucky said finally, looking down and starting to walk again. M’Baku let his hand drop from his shoulder, and kept pace with him.

“It was nothing,” he said, meaning ‘you’re welcome’. Bucky’s strange smile came back.

“It really wasn’t,” he said quietly, and M’Baku steadied himself, on the palace steps, looking down at the city.

“No, I suppose it wasn’t,” he said.

There were people in the palace even this late at night, but it seemed the staff, and even the members of the Dora on guard had grown used to Bucky, and they let them pass without comment, although M’Baku saw the Dora smile behind their hands. It was like being a teenager again, and sneaking back into the chief’s house in Jabariland, his mother’s guards pretending not to see him. Once they were inside the palace guest rooms, he walked with Bucky to the door of his room, and then stopped when Bucky put his hand on the door but didn’t open it.

Bucky looked at his hand, the door and then M’Baku as if slightly confused, or out of place. There was a clouded look to his eyes, as if he was trying to remember something that he could only find in pieces. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“You know, back in the day, when a guy took you out dancing, it meant something,” he said. It sounded playful, in a way, but also curious, as if he was truly trying to puzzle his way through the thought, the contradictory memories of the past and experience of the present. M’Baku leaned against the wall next to the door, willing to wait for the thought to reach wherever it was becoming.

“What’d it mean?” he asked, when Bucky didn’t continue. He didn’t answer, just turned and leaned in slightly, his eyes still open, until they met half-way in a soft, lush kiss. Neither of their bodies moved anywhere aside from the lips, and when they parted it was Bucky who pulled back gently, his lips falling open with a breath.

He smiled one last time before he said “Good night” quietly, and stepped into his room, the door falling closed behind him. M’Baku didn’t have to think to find his way to his own guest room, and he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, his lips still soft with the feeling of the kiss.

&&&

M’Baku thought about the kiss for the next few days, but council work was so involved that he could not devote more than his spare thoughts to daydreaming about Bucky’s face just before the kiss, and his soft goodbye. Council demanded too much of his time and energy for anything else, and he saw Bucky only fleetingly, in the palace. He was mostly in Shuri’s lab, or speaking to T’Challa about his history, Nakia taking deliberate detailed notes. M'Baku only ever saw these meetings from the outside, but whenever Bucky saw him he would look up and smile briefly, as if to let him know he was okay.

Still, he was busy. There was a long fight to have, via hologram, with his mother and the Jabari elders, about Jabariland’s part in this new Wakanda. There were supplies to order, Jabari factors to visit in Birnin Zana, T'Challa pulling him in to endless meetings with War Dogs reporting on the state of the world beyond the borders. M'Baku carried few weapons. He did not have reason to visit the labs.

He went anyway. Shuri’s labs were deep in the mountain, chasing the seams of old Vibranium mines. There were guards down here, and Dora as well, but they only raised their eyebrows at him. He tried to walk like he had a stated purpose, a reason, for going to the labs Shuri ruled as if she alone was queen.

He was glad to see that Bucky was not being experimented on. Surely the man had had enough of that for a lifetime. T'Challa and him were speaking softly, both of them attempting to keep their voices low from the other side of the semi-translucent privacy screens. M'Baku paused at the doorway.

“I cannot guarantee complete secrecy,” T'Challa said in a careful murmur, before he looked up. “M'Baku, good. Come.”

He gestured inward, and M’Baku stepped within the screens. Bucky sat on one of the tables, his shoulders hunched inward, his one hand in his lap, but he smiled back at M'Baku.

“We were discussing the new arrivals,” T'Challa said, and M’Baku hummed in realisation.

“The Americans,” he said. T'Challa nodded.

“Just so,” he said. Bucky shook his head, sending hair away from his face, and grimaced, his version of dark amusement.

“T'Challa figures if they realise I'm here, they might not be so accommodating,” he said in a self-deprecating tone.

“Will they know you are here?” M'Baku asked, looking across at T'Challa. Wakanda had not been penetrated by foreign intelligence in many decades, but with a new openness came new risks.

“We will keep a close watch on the visiting envoy,” he said, “but Nakia cannot be everywhere, and we are sure that they will try and send in spies with his entourage.”

“Then they cannot enter Wakanda, if they bring enemies with them.” M'Baku said, with some anger. T'Challa waved a hand calmingly.

“This is the way of nations,” he said, “always trying to learn more of each other through subterfuge. It is no more than we do with our War Dogs. It cannot be one rule for Wakanda, and another for other nations.”

M’Baku huffed. He did not agree.

“We do not want the presence of visitors to put you in danger, Sergeant,” T’Challa said, and Bucky frowned. His expression was tight around the eyes, an old stress showing in his face.

“I can go…” he said slowly. “Steve-”

T’Challa clasped his hands in front of him.

“We have asked Captain Rogers, and his team, not to come to Wakanda for some time, until the attention of our world debut decreases. The borders are well-surveilled.” He paused. “We believe it would be best if you left the capital for some time.”

“Come to Jabarliand,” M’Baku suggested. When both Bucky and T’Challa turned to look at him, he gestured with an open palm. “We leave for Ghekre in two days, and the city is unreachable by outsiders. It is the safest place in Wakanda.”

T’Challa looked thoughtful, and turned to Bucky.

“You would be safe there,” he agreed. Bucky nodded slowly.

“Jabariland,” he said slowly, testing it out. There was something tentative about it, but M’Baku smiled at him, and he smiled back slowly.

“It’s a long trek,” he sad. “It will be tough.”

At that, Bucky grinned, humour going back into his eyes, T’Challa watching the both of them.

“I think I can take it,” he said.

“It is settled then,” T’Challa said. “Shuri and I will give you everything you need, and M’Baku will take you to Jabariland.”

Bucky looked down to his shoulder, and shrugged one-armed.

“No arm,” he said. T’Challa nodded.

“I will tell Shuri. No arm.” he said. He reached out to clasp Bucky’s shoulder. “I will leave you with M’Baku now.” He grinned slyly. “I think you will like Jabariland.”

&&&

Two days later, M'Baku and his fellow Jabari met outside the palace, at the rear pass to the jungle and then from there to the mountains of home. There was a wide field where the royal family would land planes when necessary, and then the field descended in a steep descent to the floor of the mist-twined jungle. M'Baku has walked this way when he came to the council, and his ancestors had walked this path many times, when they had come to do battle with or pledge fealty to the Panther, as the mood took them. He had dressed in his traditional travelling gear, prepared for the hot weather of the hike ahead, and carried his staff, the end clad in vibranium. The Jabari who had travelled with him were dressed much the same, their only weapons their staffs. They did not need anything else. A Jabari was deadly with their staff or hands, and knew the secret ways of the mountain to protect oneself, or win a victory. And if a Jabari could not triumph with those tools, then they did not deserve to triumph at all.

Kwento stamped her feet next to him, to ward away the early-morning chill.

“M'Baku, why do we wait?” she said. He waved a hand at her.

“It is four days of walking,” he said. “We can afford to wait a little longer.”

She huffed, but left him be. She was anxious to return to Jabariland and her brother’s daughter, about to begin her warrior’s training. He rolled his shoulders, and kept his eyes on the palace. In the distance, there was some movement, and then slowly the figure focused into Bucky, the akwete tied over his side. He had a knife strapped to his hip, but no other weapons, and a small cloth bag was slung over his shoulder. He carried nothing else.

M’Baku extended a hand to him when he was within reaching distance, and pulled him into a hug, clapping him on the back.

“Alright if I join?” he asked when they pulled apart, a little shyly, looking out from behind his hair. M'Baku smiled back at him.

“It is always good to have a friend with you when travelling,” he said, and then turned to the Jabari who travelled with him. A few of the friendlier ones smiled back, but most of them eyed him warily. M’Baku eyed Kwento back. She had been a close advisor since he became chief, and the others would follow her lead. “Kwento, this is Sergeant Barnes, he comes to Jabariland with us.”

Barnes extended his hand to her.

“It's just Bucky, ma'am,” he said. Kwento raised her eyebrows but took his extended hand.

“Then it is Kwento, ‘just Bucky’,” she said, with an ironic smile. “It is a long walk we have ahead of us, are you prepared?”

He shrugged.

“I don't get tired easily.” It was not a boast, but Kwento sniffed.

“We shall see.”

M'Baku considered that something of a victory. Kwento would soon see he was not a weak outsider, and she was willing not to argue into the meantime.

The early part of the hike was always M'Baku’s favorite. His muscles enjoyed the new exertion, and his heart was happy to begin the journey home. In time he would be tired of walking, anxious to speed the day, frustrated at the pace but exhausted all at once. For now, it felt good to be free of the city and back in the open air. The path through the jungle was well-cleared, and the going easy for the first hours. Kwento led them, and the others arrayed between them, M'Baku and Bucky bringing up the rear, keeping pace. Overhead, a plane hummed past, barely visible through the jungle cover, and Bucky watched it go.

“Why not take one of those? Why walk?” he asked idly, as they continued to walk. M'Baku swung his staff, as he walked, not tired enough to use it as an aid yet, but relishing the weight, the pull as it sank into soft earth ahead of him. M'Baku hummed, and thought about how to answer. For, in truth, there were a million reasons. Perhaps the historians could trace the decision back the hundreds of year to find the Jabari ancestor who had chosen the ancient traditions over technology she did not know, or perhaps it has been something different, not the choice of one person but layer upon layer of society, a way of life founded upon trust and wisdom. He swung his staff into his next step.

“A person cannot trust something made for a purpose he does not know.” he said finally. “Perhaps it is kinder to imagine that all new things have been built for a good reason, a correct reason, but the Jabari have found it better to trust the tools of our making and the efforts of our own people. We have seen good tools and good people turned to a dark purpose, and we cannot be part of that.”

He paused, the rhythm of their walking uninterrupted. He had expected Bucky to interrupt, or to ask more questions, but he said nothing, continued walking, his face open in the way of someone listening.

“Perhaps using the plane would be the best decision now, and no one would be harmed, but what does that bring me to? I am meant to lead my people. What does it mean when I will not walk with them? What does it mean when I decide who flies and who does not? Perhaps I do not have to decide that today, but I would lead myself and my people down a road I could not control, to decisions that seem inevitable. The Jabari say, before you use a tool, you must always know the price. I see the price of technology I do not know, and cannot control, and I think, better to walk.”

Bucky snorted.

“I can understand that,” he said quietly. M'Baku nodded, looking at the path ahead.

“Yes, I thought you might,” he said. They walked until the sun had risen far and hot enough that the jungle steamed around them, joining the mists that hung in the tops of trees. They passed two more parties, both of them bound for Birnin Zana, Merchant Tribe and Mining Tribe travelling together, young men and women returning from a week spent in the jungle. With both, the travellers paused to greet each other, ask after distant family or friends in other tribes. Wakanda was a small country. Both pauses were good chances to rest, and the groups shared billtong and plantain fried over morning campfires. Bucky stood on the edge of the group, taking food when it was offered, but never interrupting, only watching.

It was afternoon when M'Baku finally called a halt, and let everyone rest. The path had been slowly ascending for most of the afternoon, and from the crest of the hill they could see the low basin of jungle and Birnin Zana at the edge of it, glittering gold in the sunlight. M'Baku leaned on his staff and looked out at it, shaking his legs to release the muscles.

“Will you miss it?” Bucky asked quietly, coming up behind him. M’Baku turned to look at him and smiled.

“The golden city?” he asked, and shook his head. “No. I am going home.”

&&&

That night, they camped in the jungle, in a grove of trees that had dried the ground with their roots. The remains of a campfire showed that travellers had camped there before, and the ash made the fire catch quickly and burn without danger. All hands set to preparing food, and even Bucky was handed a wood-handled knife, old and sharpened thin, to cut blocks of hard, spongy cheese one-handed.

The group ate upwind of the fire, so the smoke blew away from them, and some told stories. Slowly, the men and women who were the best of the Jabari introduced themselves to Bucky, naming themselves to him. M'Baku watched it happen. He had no intention of forcing his acceptance, and it would be better if everyone thought they had introduced themselves.

It was a warm night, and they slept in the open air, wrapping their travelling blankets around themselves. M'Baku fell asleep looking up at the waxing moon, thinking of the days left until he was home away, the work that awaited him.

The morning fell into the easy ritual of travel - cold breakfast, the fire to douse, water shared among the travellers, watching the jungle wake up around them. Birds too numerous to name cooed and clicked from the tree canopy, and a family of mbega monkeys chittered from nearby, watching and waiting for them to leave food. Ife chittered back playfully, and left some of the fruit they had brought with them in a pile near the extinguished fire. The mbega were cousins of the gorilla, like all monkeys, and the Jabari were guests in their home.

The day was hot, and the path grew steeper and rockier as they left the cover of the jungle behind. The tricky path, hot and steep, was the first true sign of the coming mountains, and the pace slowed as they carefully picked their way up the path. M'Baku had worried that Bucky would find the going difficult, without a second hand to help him balance, but he was strong through his whole body, climbing the path as easily as everyone else. He was like a big cat, bounding up the path past them.

“Hey slowpoke!” he called, from ahead in the path, and M’Baku laughed, the sun beating down on his neck. Bucky was lit up by the sunlight, his hair catching the light, and he looked open and happy. Out in the open air, he was different, his sheer strength and physicality more clear as he hauled himself up the path one-armed. It was good. Healing happened in the outdoors, on the open sky and the land, and it was good to see it have an effect.

“I am the ancient son of Hanuman!” he called back, in a teasing, haughty tone. “I do not chase children.”

They were closer now, as Bucky had waited while M'Baku still climbed, and Bucky was sunning himself, grinning.

“I'm nearly 60 years older than you,” he said, his eyes lit up playfully. M'Baku rubbed his jaw, as if in thought.

“In that case,” he said, “you are one of my elders, and I must show you respect. Allow me to help you with the climb, grandfather.”

and he lunged sideways, off the path, catching Bucky around the waist and carrying him into the undergrowth. Bucky shrieked, and then, laughing the whole time, fought back. It was hardly a real fight, both of them scrabbling in the brush like children, and they wrestled until Bucky was able to hook one of his legs over M'Baku’s and pin him, using all of his superior strength to put his shoulder to M'Baku’s and his arm across his collarbone, his back in the dust. They were both laughing, and M’Baku did not try to free himself. They were pressed close against each other, only a handspan or less between this faces. It would be only the effort of a second to close the distance between them and kiss Bucky’s open, laughing mouth.

Instead his flopped back, giving up fighting back.

“I yield, I yield,” he said, “you are too strong grandfather.”

Bucky leaned his whole weight, supernaturally heavy even without the arm, onto him, and M’Baku made a deep ‘oof’ sound as air escaped.

“Grandfather, eh?” Bucky said, still grinning. “How's it feel, getting beat by an old man?”

“I always let my elders win,” M'Baku said, and then when Bucky laughed he used the momentary distraction to roll them, freeing his arm from Bucky's grip to grab at his wrist. They rolled in the bushes, scratching themselves with thorns and branches, until they reached a flat, M'Baku sitting on Bucky’s thighs. His arm was still free, but his resistance was just play, and they both paused to catch their breath.

M'Baku risked a glance back to the path, and Kwento and the others were waiting, Kwento with her hand on her hip. She raised an eyebrow.

“If my chief is done rolling in the grass like a newlywed?” she shouted, in Igbo. “I would like to reach home before I am an old woman!”

M'Baku grimaced in embarrassment, but stood, offering his hand to Bucky.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“That we are being children,” he said, and Bucky shrugged, both of them pushing through undergrowth back to the path. The rest of the group did not wait for them to catch up, just trusted that they followed and resumed their climb.

They climbed in silence for another long period time, until the sun was angled from the west, shining on their backs, casting long shadows from the lone, skinny trees they passed. Bucky watched everything with his dark eyes, catching the way Kwento and M'Baku both moved through the group, falling into step with those who tired, and M’Baku was sure he saw more, the eagle nested in the far tree and the prairie dogs appearing from their underground palace. M'Baku saw him raise his head, and take in the whole expanse, the low undergrowth running away until it disappeared down the slope, rising again further away in the next hill

He breathed deeply, and M'Baku waited for him to speak.

“What a place,” he said simply. The low sun made everything orange and brown, shadowed in a deep dye, and Bucky looked cast from the earth, like he had risen from a hole in the ground like the first people.

“Now you understand why I don't want to see the world outside Wakanda?” M'Baku asked quietly. “What could be more than this? Surely this can be enough?”

Bucky shook his hair out of his face, used his hand to push it back.

“Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be,” he said. “I like it here fine.”

M'Baku hummed in agreement. Ahead of them, the group were cresting the last straight up climb, the section of stone and earth that had been cut into stairs. At the top, people has camped on this journey for a hundred years. There was a hollow in the stone where the fire was lit, stone walls crumbling with time where someone once lived. It was a good place, with history.

“Here, everything is...easier.” Bucky said, thoughtfully, slowly. “Everything, all the past and the people..it just falls away.”

M'Baku waited, and watched as Bucky made a frustrated face. It was like his smile; taking a long time to reach its conclusion.

“Out there,” he said, with a gesture that took in everything over the horizon. “There's all this - stuff.” He waved a hand. “I gotta be someone from the past - soldier, or killer, or even - friend. Here, I guess, it's easier to be a new person.”

“There are less people who know you here,” M'Baku said, in agreement, and Bucky shrugged.

“I don't know if it's that,” he said. “But being out here, this place, it helps.” He turned. “Thank you.”

M'Baku smiled and reached out a hand to his shoulder, and said nothing. It was easier, and better, sometimes, to say nothing, and Bucky was reaching for something M'Baku had no knowledge of. Better to be silent.

Bucky sat with the group at the fire, as they shared dinner and told stories. Kwento told the story of her coming-of-age, the hyenas that had followed her across the desert, the water buffalo she had killed, alone and with only her spear as a weapon. It was an old story, and M’Baku had heard it many times before, but Bucky listened as if he had never heard a story before. He was a good audience, and made the story better in the listening.

M'Baku found a comfortable place, in soft dirt, to lie down, and put his arm behind his head so he could see the flickering of the fire and hear the rising and falling of the voices. The young ones would stay up for longer, telling older and older stories until they finally admitted defeat to the night and slept. He lay like that, in a half drowse, watching the fire, until finally, sleep took him in a gentle wave.

He had fallen asleep facing east, and so he was first to wake, the sun warming his eyes and shoulders until he had to shake himself awake and stand. The dawn was still weak, and the rest of the loose dozen of travellers were still fast asleep. It was cold here in the high desert, and would grow colder as they ascended into the mountains. M'Baku croached to rouse the fire, poking at the charcoal until they glowed red and added some of the gathered wood left at a distance. It warmed him a little and he stood to see Kwento slowly shaking herself from sleep. They were cousins, which was good, it was good to have blood with you, good to call on the connections of birth and history when leading, but he would have chosen her regardless. She was a fierce fighter but better and more importantly, she was a judge of character, who led with a word and a look. Leadership was not something you had, it was something you worked at, every day, every moment, putting others before yourself, and he learned all his best lessons from Kwento.

She tapped his calf with the butt of her staff and he nodded,lifting his own staff by the middle hand-hold and spinning it lightly.

“Hmm,” Kwento said, in a low-pitched voice, as they stepped away from the group. “Maybe you get rusty, trying to woo you-” She said a word in Igbo that was not strictly rude, but not complementary either. M'Baku rolled his eyes, and pointed his staff at her as they both settled into fighting stances.

“You have no respect for your chief,” he said long-sufferingly. She stepped in, knocking his staff aside, but he only stepped back, out of her reach. He shook his head. “The young today.”

“You are only a year older than me,” she said, and he lunged, side on. She blocked, and he darted out of range of her counter.

“I am ancient in wisdom, of course,” he said loftily, and dodged again when she lunged. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, as he countered and their staffs exchanged taps, close up and quick, both of them careful with their feet. He had weight on her, but she knew not to let him use it, pulling apart whenever it looked like he might hook onto her staff. She was faster, and had a little height, so she tried to use her range, but he knocked aside the lunges easily.

By the time the sun had risen fully and the rest of the group were awake, both of them were sweating and sore. Kwento had landed two hard hits to his thighs when he had left his guard wide, and he had managed to catch her on the meat of her biceps. It was M’Baku who raised his hand to call for the end. Being chief also meant being willing to lose, competitiveness was for men with less to lose.

When M'Baku stepped back to the camp, Bucky was waiting, looking at him with a warm, assessing eye. M'Baku knew he looked good, and he preened a little, not caring if he spilled water when he drank, feeling Bucky's gaze on him. The cool air would dry off his sweat soon, so he gulped several mouthfuls of their water container and passed it to Kwento.

“You're not bad,” Bucky said appreciatively. M'Baku shrugged with one shoulder.

“Kwento is better over terrain,” he said. He was too heavy, invested too much in a physique built to intimidate, to be able to pull off fancy footwork. “I'm better on the flat.”

“You only beat me in your dreams,” Kwento said, but it was a familiar taunt, and he flapped a hand at her.

The hike that day was tough. They were well into the mountains now, and it was cold and rough, rocky and treacherous, climbing up and up and up until the earth would dip, like the promise of a valley before one appeared, and then punish them again by rising and forcing them to climb again.

The younger ones, who had only made the trip a handful of times before, struggled under the pace, but Kwento and M'Baku, even Ife the joker of the gang, moved through the line, talking and joking and cajoling, always saying ‘just a bit further, here is the next hand-hold, this is where your mother stepped those years ago when she came to the Jabari, I know the story’, pushing the group onwards. Even Bucky helped. Kwento, not wanting to admit defeat but fair to a fault, admitted that he did not tire, and whenever M'Baku looked back, Bucky had his hand on the back of the last straggler, his muscles straining to balance and push upwards both. It was a good sight, and M'Baku swallowed the fission of desire, waiting and watching.

At night, sheltered in one of the false valleys, it was possible to see the lights of Ghekre in the distance, the smaller lights of other settlements between them and the city.

He and Bucky sat next to each other by the fire, close against the new cold wind.

“You taking me there?” Bucky said, nodding towards the cluster of lights. M'Baku shook his head.

“Not to the city,” he said. “There is a family on the plain, south of Ghekre. They need help, on the farm. I thought maybe, you would like to go there. It’s quiet, out in the opent.”

Bucky sat back, resting his palms on the ground.

“Why there?” he asked quietly. M'Baku smiled, a little tense around the corners.

“I thought of it yesterday,” he said honestly. “When we talked. You said, the open air, the outdoors. The family, they're old friends, and their land-” he trailed off, the thought escaping him. This was one of the reasons why he didn't like outsiders. How to explain the orange dirt and the grass, the sound of the summer wind through the roof? How to explain the centred-ness that came with knowing you were in the right place? That feeling had followed M'Baku his whole life, and describing it like was thinking of a new colour: impossible, maddening, yet just out of reach. “It's a good place for healing.”

Bucky turned to look at him, and the darkness of the night made it feel like it was just the two of them, no one else in the whole world, and nothing to think about but each other.

“That sounds good,” Bucky said quietly, but M’Baku didn’t really hear it, because the two of them were so close now, and Bucky’s eyes dropped to his mouth. For a split second of clarity, he knew they were going to kiss, and then Bucky dipped his head and their lips pressed together, soft and lush and gentle. It was a gentle, slow-burning kiss, neither of them touching anywhere but the connection of the kiss, until Bucky raised a hand that curled around the muscle of M’Baku’s upper arm, just holding gently. Eventually, after what felt like an age, the kiss broke in a slow separation, Bucky’s eyes still closed until the last possible second. Neither of them spoke, and when Bucky lay down to sleep, he was only a hand’s breadth from M’Baku. Sleep came so easily, listening to the deep even breathing next to him.

&&&

In the night, the moon hidden behind the mountain so that M’Baku could not know how soon it was till morning, he jerked, snapping to complete awakeness in seconds, not sure what had woken him.

Slowly he realised that the ragged sound of breathing was Bucky, gasping for air in the dark, and he barely had to extend his arm to curl fingers around the top of his bicep. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Bucky still asleep, but caught in something, a nightmare, maybe just a dream, and he squeezed his arm gently, rubbed his thumb over the curve of the muscle, until his breathing evened out, and slowly but unstoppably, M’Baku fell back asleep, still holding on.

&&&

That morning, they crested the ridge around Jabariland, and began the descent into the valley. They passed a few homesteads, the extended families tilling, or herding, or merely sat around, speaking rapid Igbo to one another. There were a few stares, there were not many outsiders in Jabariland, but some of the younger children came to chase after them all, and dare each other to get closer and closer to Bucky before they ran away. He smiled at them every time, and waved at them, and eventually people stopped staring. They had more important things to do than worry about strangers.

The going was easy, a relief after the hard-going of the mountains, and they stopped often, to haggle for food, or just to admire babies, hear about the good harvest, the prize cow. M'Baku listened carefully to every story, filing the details away carefully, thinking of how the irrigation could be diverted, the new teachers needed in the school, a young boy who loudly proclaimed his wished to be a warrior.

The warriors who travelled with him went ahead or fell behind as the need took them. Some of them had family in the plain, others were tired of the journey, or easily distracted, so there was no comment when M'Baku and Bucky strayed from the path, Bucky following as they skirted a thin tributary of the river. The Eze homestead was hidden by trees, tucked in the corner of the river, and M’Baku pauses in the shadow of the trees, the family home visible through gaps in the trees.

Bucky kissed him again there, where they were unseen, and it is the first of their kisses where M’Baku felt a heat curl through him, their bodies against each other, and wanted more. The kisses seemed to stretch without end, never getting deeper but never softening off, until they both jumped at children screaming and laughing from the homestead.

Madu, his old friend from his days training as a Jabari warrior, was at home, with his wife, and their nephews and nieces, and hugged M’Baku, shook Bucky’s hand. M’Baku had sent word on ahead, and Madu was happy to take on another hand, someone who would be helpful without being a burden. All Madu’s children had gone on to Ghekre, or to Birnin Zana, and the farm needed someone of all hands, to carry heavy things and look after the goats.

“Thank you sir,” Bucky said, ducking his head and trying to look smaller. Madu waved a hand, dismissive already.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, the deep laugh lines around his mouth pulling tight. “It’s not a favour, you’ll work hard.”

They ate outside, suya and rice, pumpkin leaves, until M’Baku felt too full, leaning back in his chair to look at the night sky, The trees around were full of the sounds of the night animals, bugs and bats waking up as everything else rolled down to sleep. He liked Birnin Zana well enough, but this, the heart of Jabariland, was his favorite place in the whole world.

Madu stood, cracking his back, and only smiled at them both, a knowing look on his face, before he went inside the main house. The rest of the family had already gone to sleep, and the only sounds was the forest and river, and their quiet breathing.

“You were right,” Bucky said, from next to M'Baku. “I do like it here.”

M'Baku smiled, and put his hands behind his head.

“Madu taught the Jabari warriors until he retired,” he said. “He'll be a good host for you.”

Bucky reached out and caught his elbow, pulling gently until M'Baku lowered his arms and Bucky could wrap his fingers around his wrist.

“That's not why I like it,” he said quietly, almost shyly. His fingers were warm, and gentle, the pads of his fingers brushing over the soft skin on the inside of M'Baku’s wrist, bumping over the veins.

M'Baku looked back at him, and he did look shy, a little unsure, but there was a sweet glint in his eye, like they were sharing a good joke. He pulled at his arm until he could take Bucky’s hand, slowly turn it over, and then, making eye contact the whole time, and kiss Bucky’s palm, directly in the centre. Again, like in the palace garden, he felt the quick zing of direct eye contact, and Bucky’s focused gaze.

“I go back to Ghekre tomorrow,” he said, and then kissed Bucky's fingers.

“What are we waiting for them?” Bucky asked slyly.

Madu had another small house on the homestead, for non-family who stayed or worked, and M’Baku and Bucky had been given the run of it for the night. Bucky kissed him in the doorway, no more shyness, just the firm press of his mouth, and his arm pulling M'Baku in.

The bed was low-set, in a base of carved wood, worn smooth and Bucky walked M'Baku backwards, kissing him with his hand curved around a pectoral muscle, one thumb grazing his nipple, until his calves hit the bed and he was forced to sit or fall.

As he sat, Bucky bent, so that the kiss didn't break, and M'Baku raised a hand to his shoulder, to help him balance, and they kissed deeply for what felt like an age. It was deep, and good, not just lips sliding against each other but Bucky's teeth catching at his bottom lip, every move a reminder of the heat of wanting each other.

When they finally broke the kiss, Bucky straightened and pulled his shirt over his head one-handed. M'Baku went bare-chested in everything but the coldest blizzard, but it was a revelation to suddenly have the whole expanse of Bucky's chest and stomach revealed to him. He ran his hands over it, feeling the flat of his palms ghost over the shapes of the muscle. Bucky gasped when he pinched one of his nipples, so he did it again, until he was hard and wanting just from watching and listening.

“C’mon,” he said quietly, gently, and pulled Bucky towards him by the back of the neck until they were both sprawled on the bed, Bucky’s firm weight on top of M'Baku. Kissing like that, laid out across the bed, wrapped around each other, was a thousand times better than any kiss they'd had before, and M'Baku felt lit up, like he should be glowing from the inside out. Each kiss made him smile, and push his hips up against Bucky’s. The angle was bad, but it was enough to get both of them hard and gasping into each others mouths everytime the other moved. It was good, a kind of liquid, aching goodness that suffused everything, made every kiss and caress slow and vital.

Bucky sat back, putting his weight on the top of M'Baku’s thighs. The bulge in his trousers was obvious, even in the dark, and M'Baku reached out a hand to run his fingers over the shape of it and then pressed firmly when he heard Bucky's sharp intake of breath. It was difficult, through the thick material of his trousers, but M'Baku gripped Bucky's length and moved his hand, giving Bucky friction to grind against. Watching him roll his eyes, his eyelids fluttering as he groaned breathily, was a delicious kind of tease, and M’Baku felt his mouth water with need. He started fumbling with the buttons of Bucky’s trousers and soon both of them were scrabbling at this, needing three clumsy hands to find open Bucky’s fly and shove down his trousers far enough to free his prick.

M’Baku wriggled upwards, out from under Bucky’s weight, and leaned forward to kiss his chest.

“Let me suck you,” he said, and Bucky breathed out loudly, grasping his own cock.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. They had to rearrange, both of them scrambling over each other in a laughing but enthralling tangle until Bucky was on his back and wriggling out of his pants. M'Baku stood to get fully undressed, and then lay across Bucky's legs, looking up at him, past his rigid cock and gorgeous muscles to his shining eyes and easy smile.

M'Baku grinned back and planted his forearm across Bucky's hips. He knew he wasn't strong enough to hold him down but it would at least be a reminder. He leaned forward and licked the whole glorious length of him, shivering pleasurably at Bucky’s surprised gasp before he closed his lips around the head and sucked. The musky, astringent taste was arousing enough, but it was so hot to finally hear Bucky react to his own pleasure, moaning and biting his lip, his hands curled into fists at his sides. It was so restrained, almost polite, and M'Baku hollowed out his cheeks, pushing his mouth down and taking more of Bucky’s thick cock into his mouth. Bucky groaned loudly, the sound of it like syrup in M'Baku’s gut, heavy and sweet and intoxicating. He rubbed his tongue along the underside of Bucky’s cock, feeling the pressure of the large vein and loving it. Bucky shuddered, his whole body shaking, and his hand moved, as if to warn M'Baku who ignored it and swallowed as Bucky came, his throat constricting.

Bucky was breathing hard when he pulled off, and he reached out to take his hand, pulling himself up to kiss Bucky’s soft, gorgeous mouth. Bucky was lazy and smiling, easy after his orgasm, and he curled his hand around the back of M'Baku’s neck, pulling him into a lush kiss. He rolled his hips, the head of his cock bumping over the ridges of Bucky’s abs, each touch maddeningly good but not enough. Bucky sucked on his tongue and then broke the kiss so he could focus, a thin frownline forming between his brows as he stroked M'Baku’s cock, spreading pre-come along the shaft until the glide was so good, tight and hot and fuck, M'Baku bent forward and fit his face into the crook of Bucky's shoulder, only able to open his mouth and pant. Bucky put his lips to M'Baku’s temple, his hand moving still moving, his arm rippling as he jerked M'Baku off.

“I wish you could fuck me,” Bucky said, and M'Baku gasped, surprised at the boldness and filthiness, as well as the visual. His fist closed even more tightly, the friction just enough, and M'Baku heard Bucky's soft breath, just before he tipped over the edge and came.

For a long second M'Baku pulled in long breaths over Bucky’s skin, feeling like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and then, when he felt Bucky squirm underneath him, he rolled off, letting his weight fall onto the bed. Bucky wiped his hand on his own inner thigh with a grimace, but then smiled when he saw M'Baku looking at him.

They kissed sleepily, softly, but neither of them spoke until M'Baku felt sleep overtake him, seeing, in the fuzzy way of the half-asleep, Bucky's eyelashes fluttering closed across from him.

&&&

At dawn, the soft yellow light peeked through the shutters, and Madu knocked on the door lintel, calling for Bucky to come join him. Bucky rose, and dressed and M'Baku watched him, half in a dream and half awake. As they left, he fell back asleep. It was only half a days walk to Ghekre, and he was not expected till the evening.

He woke again when the sun was higher, and stretched, enjoying the aftereffects of a good rest and a good partner in bed. Eventually, he dressed, and went to the river to wash, watching the hive of activity around Madu’s main house. They had given Bucky new clothes, and he was being shown, with much squealing by the children, how to bring Madu’s rangey dog to heel, how to argue with the goats without speaking. One of the kids escaped the knot of humans and Bucky had to chase after it, bending to catch it round the middle with one hand.

“Got you!” he said happily, and then saw M’Baku when he looked up. The short chase had brought Bucky closer, and they were within speaking distance.

“Hey, you woke up.” he said. M’Baku rose from his crouch at the river’s edge.

“I’m not expected in Ghekre until the evening,” he said, and jogged a few steps to catch up with Bucky as they walked back to the house, where Madu was herding the goats into a paddock. The kid in his grasp bleated and struggled until he released it, leaning over the fence to set it down gently. M’Baku leaned on the fence to wait until Bucky turned to him.

“You go back today?” he said. His hair was falling over his eyes again, and this time M’Baku reached up to push it out of the way.

“It’s only half a day away, no time at all,” he said. He didn’t want to invite himself back, but each of Bucky’s soft kisses had been a glorious surprise. He could stand to have another one.

“You can come visit,” Bucky said, and then, slowly, leaned into to kiss him.

M’Baku could hear Madu’s nieces squealing from the other side of the paddock, but he ignored it. There’d be plenty more chances to kiss Bucky in private, but this, kissing under the warm morning sun, was enough. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] in the yellow and green](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15190484) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)




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